


As You Wish

by Paraxdisepink



Category: due South
Genre: Fluff, M/M, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-19
Updated: 2013-03-19
Packaged: 2017-12-05 19:27:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/727060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paraxdisepink/pseuds/Paraxdisepink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>RayK can’t stop thinking about the “buddy breathing” in Mountie & the Bounty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As You Wish

Ray leaned into the corner of the couch with his arms around his knees, feeling small, like a scared little kid or a cat folded up as compact as possible in order to stay warm. It wasn’t cold – the heat in the apartment was on – but he couldn’t get that shivering sensation out of his skin, and when he closed his eyes he saw nothing but dark water again and before he knew it he was hugging his knees tighter, glad for the solid couch beneath him. Cats didn’t like water, he didn’t like water, and when a cat got scared it hissed and ran and curled up somewhere. That’s what he felt like doing, curling up, hiding under the covers maybe, but he settled for beer and the couch. Couch, TV, pizza, beer – normal things, not like nearly drowning trapped in a sinking boat disguised as a ghost ship of obscure legend. That was trauma, he had trauma, and he was dealing with it by quietly freaking out every five seconds that he could have died. Not could have died until backup arrives died – that was every day could have died, at least take the bad guy down with him died – but fish food, never found again could have died. No grave, no last transmission over the radio. Nothing. Just him and Fraser, partners forever on the ocean floor. 

He still wanted to panic, still felt trapped, still felt the claustrophobia and the helplessness, and . . . And Fraser. Fraser the freak who licked toxic garbage and showed a mindblowingly inhuman disinterest in that shitload of gold they had found among the barrels of whatever it was. Fraser never panicked; he just bloomed and closed and Mountied his way right out of certain death. A god damn superhero. It’s a bird, it’s a plain, it’s Mountie Man! On top of being scared all to hell, Fraser made him feel like shit. 

Right now he was absorbed in the TV, sucked into some Discovery channel nature thing he had found after Ray lost interest in the game, one of those shows about wildlife in remote jungles that only came on when Fraser watched TV. He’d eaten a quarter of the pizza, and didn’t say a word when Ray had felt like puking after one slice. But it wasn’t Fraser’s business anyway how much he ate. He paid for it, paid for the pizza because he felt guilty, because Fraser was such a big-hearted guy it was either find a way to stop feeling like shit or get the hell away from him. Getting the hell away from him didn’t work, so Ray bought pizza, because Fraser put up with him, because Fraser didn’t leave him behind to drown no matter how much of an asshole he was. 

He still couldn’t believe he punched him. Ray had never felt like such shit in his life. He may as well have hit Stella, or kicked Dief or a little kid or something. You punched bad guys and guys who hit on your girlfriend or couldn’t keep their hands off Frannie, not Fraser. Punching Fraser crossed a line. And you didn’t punch him because you hated admitting you couldn’t swim. A guy who did that was insecure, had issues. You punched him because he almost got himself shot or licked cyanide or was about to die on you or something. 

It wasn’t about swimming, and admitting that to himself made Ray feel less like shit and more like a punk. He hated punks, wannabe tough guys who tried to act hard to cover up the fact that they were scared. He didn’t want to be one of those, but ever since meeting Fraser he’d been scared out of his mind.

“Are you all right, Ray?” Fraser was watching him. He hadn’t noticed, and now he wanted to hide his face, wanted to snap “quit looking at me before I pop you one” because he wanted to hide his face. Just like a punk. All you had to do was look at Fraser to find out how far you had to go as a human being.

Fraser looked worried, that was the worst part, staring at him with that weird concentration in his face. Ray really did want to pop him one, just for that one-in-a-million chance that he might actually have guessed what was wrong and was waiting for proof or something, but there he went having issues again, so he just said, “No.”

“I see.” Fraser didn’t look very Mountie-like without his uniform. He looked normal in his t-shirt and jeans, tired even, but the uniform wasn’t a mask. Ray was an old lady on the other side of the street and all Fraser wanted to do was help him across, because he’s good that way. He’s Fraser, even after you punch him in the face. “Perhaps if you imparted to me the nature of the problem, I might be able to . . .“

He made an open-handed gesture, and Ray looked away. What was he supposed to say? _I can’t stop thinking about how I nearly drowned with only you to cling to, and the nearly dying isn’t even the most traumatizing part._ It pissed him off suddenly that he had to explain. They were partners. Fraser should know. Instinct. But maybe if Fraser knew he wouldn’t be here now, and for a while the whole point had been for Fraser not to know 

“What? You can’t lick me and find out?” 

It just came out. The smart-mouthed comments always just came out, and now it was like he was mad at Fraser because _he_ had to come clean. Like it was all Fraser’s fault. Well it was, kinda. 

“Ray . . .” Fraser looked confused, and a little hurt. He might be from another planet, but he was still human; he got when he was being made fun of or put down. Ray felt worse. He wasn’t making fun of him this time. This time the joke was on Ray and he wasn’t laughing. The idea of Fraser licking him had a whole new meaning and that wasn’t funny at all. 

And now he had to be the big guy for once, because he’d be a creep if he didn’t, and maybe he had issues but he wasn’t going to have those kinds of issues. He took his arms from around his knees and turned toward Fraser and suddenly the room got quiet. Fraser was looking at him, probably expecting something normal about trauma and near death experiences and suddenly this was the hardest thing Ray had ever done. It was Fraser. You couldn’t say things like this to Fraser. It crossed a line. There was a line, a line that said there were just certain things you didn’t feel or think about a guy like Fraser, and he was over it, way over it, not turning back. 

“Fraser, I can’t breathe.”

It was coming out. Coming out? What, was he making puns now? This whole conversation was going to turn into a train wreck. He could feel it in his gut. He wanted off the freaky train now and it was just barely leaving the station. 

Fraser looked thrown for a loop. He just reached out and put his hand on Ray’s chest, his big Mountie hand right there in the center where Ray could feel it through his t-shirt, heavy and warm like a brick. He felt like he’d swallowed a brick, going stock still and looking up at Fraser, feeling helpless all over again and thinking _um, hey, Frase, you might not want to do that._ He didn’t let out his breath until Fraser took his hand away. 

“What do you mean, Ray? By all appearances you’re breathing just fine.”

Ray wanted to kick him. Fraser had to do this stuff on purpose. Maybe it was a game, some weird Canadian Inuit game. Maybe he got a sick joy out of toying with normal humans like some kind of alien or mad scientist or something. No, no, it wasn’t a game. That was the problem. That was why he had to tell him. 

“No.” His mouth went off before his brain did and the words just came out. “That thing you did underwater – that thing with your mouth. You have to do it again. You have to do it, Fraser.”

Fraser rubbed his ear in complete confusion, and for a moment Ray couldn’t believe what he had just asked for. This wasn’t going right. The whole point of that transfer business had been to . . . Fraser was going to say no anyway. 

“As you wish.”

Ray blinked. What happened to no or this isn’t logical Ray? Now would be a good time for logic so maybe they could put the cat back in the bag and bring it out again slow. But all he got was a big calm slightly baffled “as you wish” and then Ray was mimicking “as you wish, as you wish” under his breath and staring at Fraser nervously. Who was he? Wesley from the fucking Princess Bride? Stella used to watch that all the time, and he was freaking out again. In that movie, as you wish had a meaning. This was a bad plan. He should have thought it through, shouldn’t have said the first thing that came out of his mouth like that. 

Fraser’s hands came to either side of his face, big strong hot hands that could probably kill a lion or maybe lift up a building like Hercules or something. They felt strong now, tilting Ray’s chin up, like he couldn’t look away if he wanted to. They’d felt like that down there in that ship, holding him up when the dark water was fighting to drag him down. 

Ray closed his eyes, and it happened. It was happening. Fraser’s mouth touched his and this whole current of electricity shot through him. Not from shock, like on the boat, not from the whole thing coming out of left field, but this whole rush of secret pleasure, of finally getting something he hadn’t realized he had wanted all along. It was guilty pleasure too, because he was taking advantage of Fraser, making him give something he didn’t need so he could get something he did. Fraser was too generous to take advantage of, and . . . Screw it. His brain went from working a mile a minute to not working at all.

He hadn’t noticed how he’d been gripping the sofa, but his hands came up, resting against Fraser’s waist, against tight jeans and soft t-shirt and the strong body beneath, impossibly warm like he had some special internal heating mechanism to ward off freezing to death, like curling up to him in the tundra could save your life or maybe keep your heating bill down here in Chicago. Ray’s hands slid up, all the way along Fraser’s back, feeling muscles move and tighten, and he didn’t stop until he got a handful of shiny dark Mountie hair. 

Instinct. Fraser’s mouth. Greatness, utter greatness. And suddenly, he was the one giving, moving his lips against Fraser’s, because that thing up in Canada they called buddy breathing felt a whole lot like kissing and he couldn’t stop himself from wanting more of it. Fraser’s mouth wasn’t slippery or cold like down on the boat; he was hot, burn this baby down hot, his whole body rigid as a brick wall, shocked, and Ray was taking advantage of him big time now.

That made him stop, let go of Fraser’s hair, and pull away. He sank back panting into his corner of the couch, shocked too and ashamed of himself. Since when did he go jumping guys like that? Thinking about Fraser in a wholly inappropriate way was one thing, but asking him to do that so he could kiss him . . .

He made himself look up, look at the mess he’d made. Fraser’s face was as red as the uniform he wasn’t wearing and his eyes had this bright, glassy look, like maybe he’d never heard of kissing before. Maybe it was too dangerous in the tundra. Maybe your lips froze together or something, or maybe he was more normal than Ray thought and wasn’t into guys. He looked stunned, almost like when Ray had punched him, and remembering that made Ray start talking again. 

“See that . . .” he was having trouble catching his breath and the room was kind of spinning, “that’s why we couldn’t be partners anymore, Fraser.”

There, that was clean, nice and clean. Honest. Canadian honest, without the big words. But it wasn’t Canadian enough because Fraser didn’t understand. He face went blank and he rubbed his eyebrow with the back of his hand, like he wanted to scrub the redness away, or maybe the trauma of being kissed by a guy.

“Because I have superior lung capacity?

Ray rolled his eyes at the ceiling. Fraser was so dumb. He had to it on purpose. No way he didn’t do it on purpose. “No. Look, Fraser, stop being a freak for one second, and think about what I’m saying here.”

Fraser wasn’t thinking. He was hurt or maybe just annoyed. “I fail to see how I’m freakish, Ray, when you aren’t making any sense.”

“I’m not making sense?” Ray was starting to lose it. This wasn’t that hard to get. It shouldn’t be that hard. “I’m not making sense? I asked you to put your mouth on mine, Fraser. How does that not make sense?”

“When you’re breathing perfectly fine, Ray, it makes no sense at all.”

Ray couldn’t take it anymore. He grabbed Fraser’s hand and shoved it between his legs. “ _That,_ Fraser,” he pressed down and made Fraser feel the bulge there in his jeans. “I’m talking about that, okay? That’s why I said we couldn’t be partners. That’s what you do to me.”

Bing. It registered. Fraser’s mouth opened and his eyes got big and slowly he took his hand away. Ray felt a little jolt inside him when he did, like his body wanted that hand back, right there, touching him. He hadn’t thought about Fraser touching him. A guy like Fraser just wouldn’t do something like that, which was why it was wrong to want him to, and suddenly it was torture to sit on the couch less than a foot from him and not touch him.

“Oh,” Fraser finally said, more embarrassed by his failure to get it than by what Ray was actually trying to tell him. But then the comprehension set in and his face went scarlet all over again and he muttered, “Oh dear.”

“Yeah, oh dear. Holy shit is more like it, or better yet, fuck me. My dick gets hard around Fraser.”

“There’s no need to be crude, Ray.” He was calm. We’re standing on a ledge that’s starting to crumble under us and it’s a ten story drop below calm. He should have freaked out. First Frannie and the Ice Queen and now you, can’t I go anywhere without someone trying to get in my pants, where can I file the sexual harassment suit freaking out. But he didn’t. He stayed calm. Ray wasn’t in the mood for calm

“Forget crude. This is okay with you?” He looked down at his crotch, not that he had to – he could feel the throbbing, the I want Fraser’s sex in a way that’s gayer than George Michael throbbing. Fraser just sat there, looking so put on the spot that Ray felt like shit all over again. He swallowed, and all of a sudden he was the one having to register something he couldn’t believe. Fraser wasn’t freaking out, Fraser . . . “Fraser, is this okay with you?” Ray was asking now, knocked onto his ass because he hadn’t even considered this, clutching Fraser’s arm. 

“Ray . . .” He was at a loss, quiet, lowering his head as if he didn’t want Ray to look at him, and suddenly he looked so sad and lonely that Ray felt like even more of a jerk for punching him and telling him he didn’t want to be partners anymore. Christ. He had never thought that Fraser . . . He couldn’t even think it. It was beyond comprehending. I’m sorry, I didn’t know didn’t even cut it. Why didn’t you tell me was more like it. But Fraser didn’t know how. He just stuck by you and never left you and saved your life and begged you to stay in his own way. And only a guy with issues left a guy like Fraser.

But Fraser was sitting right here, looking quietly terrified and uncomfortable as all hell, in a need of some saving and a partner who should be showing up right about now to help him out. 

Ray sank back into the corner of the couch, feeling stunned and run over and . . . happy. He still had a hold of Fraser’s arm, and he tugged it and smiled and said, “I think I need more air over here, Fraser.”


End file.
